


Little Talks

by clairedearing



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003), Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist the Movie: Conqueror of Shamballa, Longing, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairedearing/pseuds/clairedearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphonse visits Mustang during his time in solitude and Roy finds another person who believes in Edward Elric as much as he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> I read this over once I think? Which means there's bound to be a few errors, as always. I wrote this in Notes on my iPod between maths and history.

At what could constitute as noon, Mustang hears a knock at his door. It could be a loose branch knocking against the outside of the outpost cabin, but here - in the further most northwestern part of Amestris, where there are no trees, just rocks and snow and broken mountains - in a place like this, he doubts it. Still, he hesitates, half way through the instinctual motions to draw out his pocket for his gloves, except these gloves are fur laden and pristine white, no red sigils or salamanders embroidered on the back. He runs through the list of people who could possibly have any reason to walk all the way up here, to one of the most barren regions of the north, and comes up with nothing. It could be a check-up he reasons, but there's still two weeks to go till that, so whoever's on the other side of that door is effectively a mystery.  
  
He finds the gun on the bedside table, checks to make sure it's loaded, and moves towards the door. The loss of heat is instantly palatable, cold air seeping through whatever crack they can find. When he first arrived, he used to be torn between staying as close to the fire as he could, or standing so close to the cold for so long that it felt as if he had nothing left to feel. It helped, for awhile, before he realized that no matter how numb he became, the hot, sharp pain in the back of his head would never truly go away.  
  
Mustang lifts the latch to the door and swings it open, holding the gun just in view - in a casual 'if you try to attack me, I won't hesitate to blow your brains out' sort of way.  
  
And, just for a second, as the snow streaks across his face, trying to fill every gap it was vacant in before, the dash of brilliant red in front of him is so vivid against the torrential grays and whites in the background that he can hardly breathe.  
  
The name spills from his lips, just as the flash of gold flickers out into the air, and his voice is horribly dry from the disuse, enough that the stunned 'Fullmetal...?' sounds too desperate and too hopeful, more than he'd ever knowingly allow.  
  
"I'm sorry," the streak of red says, and then white gloved hands are coming up to push back the fur lined hood. There's an apologetic and slightly bitter smile shining up at him. "No, I'm not him."  
  
"Alphonse," Mustang says instead, because he knows that voice just as well.  
  
Alphonse's smile brightens into a grin, out of place against the dreary gale of snow behind him and the nearly painful tightening in Mustang's stomach.  
  
"You do know me," Alphonse says, breathing it out like a whispered prayer. "Not that I don't believe Winry," he says, sharply, as if the women can hear him. "It's just I don't remember much and you're the Flame Alchemist, and it...all seemed a bit like a fairy tale to me - the stories Rose and her told me."  
  
Mustang stares at him, not sure what to do, until he sees the shake of Alphonse's shoulders and then (Fullmetal would never forgive him if he just stood there while his brother went and contracted pneumonia) he moves to the side, slipping the gun into the waist band of his belt to gesture him in.  
  
"Sit by the fire," Roy urges, and puts the gun back in the bed side drawer where it belonged. "You made the journey in this kind of weather?"  
  
Alphonse grins as he slips off his gloves, rubbing his hand by the fire grate. The tips of his fingers are nearly blue. "I'd be lying if I'd said I haven't been through worse."  
  
"Do I want to ask?" Mustang asks, dryly, and grabs a kettle full of water to boil by the fire and and extra pack of rations. They consist of slightly stale bread and salted pork, and he'll probably have to miss dinner to make up for the loss but it's worth it. Alphonse lights up when he sees the food and takes it with a 'thank you' as Mustang sits on the bench opposite him.  
  
"I'm sorry to inconvenience you," Alphonse apologizes, and Mustang raises an eyebrow.  
  
"You're not," he says, bluntly, and then realizes, at the flash of muted startled hurt at his abruptness, suddenly, that this isn't the Alphonse he's known for five years - this is a boy who's just turned, what, eleven? Hawkeye had only given him a quick report of Alphonse and his new condition; human, four years of memory missing, ten years old. He had been reeling from the loss of his eye, a good chunk of his status and creditability, and most importantly, Edward. It kills him to admit it, but Alphonse (for once) was not at the forefront of his mind.  
  
So, he shifts, and tries to remember what it's actually like to talk to people. "Alphonse," he starts and coughs just lightly. "You could never be a burden to me. I know you don't remember anything but you and your brother-" his throat is closing now, protesting the words he's kept locked away for the last year or so, but if anyone deserves to hear them, it's the boy in front of him. "You and your brother are very dear to me."  
  
Alphonse is quiet, before he laughs softly. "You said 'are'."  
  
Mustang blinks. "Ah - yes." The confusion is so obvious in his voice it nearly turns his statement into an insecure question. Only the Elrics could make him doubt himself like this.  
  
Alphonse shakes his head. "I'm sorry - it's just that I'm so used to hearing people say 'was' whenever I talk to them." He looks up to meet Roy's eye. "You haven't given up on him, have you?"  
  
Mustang's so taken aback that for a full minute he just sits and stares. Alphonse laughs again, and it's startling to hear it without the familiar echo as his voice reverberates in his hollow chest.  
  
"Winry was right," Alphonse says, and each word is filled with more and more mirth. "You believe he's alive too!"  
  
His laughter tapers off when he realizes that Mustang has yet to respond. After a few seconds there's an acute emptiness that his laughter once filled, and Alphonse is staring at him like he could hold the answer to existence itself. "Don't you?"  
  
He knows his answer - how many times as he woken up and reminded himself, and went through the day thinking about Fullmetal's voice and how much he'd cherish it when he heard it again, and fell asleep to the promise of 'one more day less until he comes back'.  
  
But, to put into words? To try to reason out that the only thing that keeps him from tearing his own eye out  (because in the darkness come the screams, the burning flesh, two gunshots, and the taste of metal in his mouth that's immediately followed by a sense of lost panic) is the image of him running away, offered hand rejected because this, _this_  was not goodbye?  
  
"Yes," Roy says, because it's the simplest thing to say. "Yes."  
  
"Tell me about him?" Alphonse asks, as if they're not in the middle of a snow-filled wasteland, where the only warmth comes from a wavering fire and Mustang's not sure they have enough supplies to last to the end of the story. He should say no, recommend Winry, or Ms. Rose, or Armstrong, because they would all be infinitely more deserving of telling the Elric brothers' tale to one of the lead roles themselves.  
  
But, Alphonse came to him - walked from Briggs, through the mountains, in the height of a storm in nothing but his brother's worn jacket, hoping that Mustang could fill in the gaps in his memory and be the person who had the same amount of faith in Edward Elric that he did - the same amount of belief that Edward Elric was alive, and well, and fighting to get back to them, to him. That soon they'd all be together and this sense of loss and dizzy desperation was just a thing of the past.  
  
"Alright," he agrees, because he realizes suddenly that Alphonse only knows the outlines of what his brother has done in the past few years and still has such a strong sense of conviction and hope in his brother and his return, has such a strong faith that it makes Mustang want to believe too - and not passively, like he has until now, but actively.  
  
It's no longer that he wants to believe that Edward is alive, or that he needs to, needs that push to start his day and make his limbs work. He does. He believes that Edward is breathing and living and fighting, and he believes that Edward is going to come home.  
  
"Alright,"  Roy agrees, and starts from the beginning.


End file.
